“Stockings.”
“Ah,” Miss Cannon said. “Why don’t you have a seat at the table, while I find my extra pair of knitting needles?”
Extra pair of knitting needles? With dawning horror, Red realized Miss Cannon thought he’d come for lessons. He opened his mouth to correct her, but she reached up to pull off her cap, unwind the scarf from around her neck, and slip off her coat. She hung it on a peg near the doorway.
Red noticed that Miss Cannon had a trim figure and slender neck. He caught himself staring and turned away, hoping she hadn’t noticed.
Miss Cannon picked up a basket from a corner of the room, filled with colorful balls of yarn. One had a pair of long needles stuck into it.
Tendrils of wavy brown hair had slipped down from the braid coiled around her head. Intelligent brown eyes that showed a hint of anxiousness flicked back and forth between him and the basket.
She carried the basket to the table. “Stockings aren’t the easiest things to start with. I remember the first pair I made for my father. Quite misshapen.” Her smile was soft, and, as she reminisced, a far-away look replaced the anxiousness in her eyes. “Although he wore them with pride.”
Red felt a strange tightening of his stomach. Right then and there, he decided not to tell pretty Miss Cannon he wanted her to make him some stockings. If she figured to teach him, he’d try to learn. It would give him an excuse to remain in her company.
He took off his hat and shed his coat. The room was marginally warmer than when he’d entered, and, if she could tolerate the temperature, so could he.
Red just hoped his partners wouldn’t get wind of this. He’d never hear the end of it. Worse, they’d probably spread the news all over town, and it would be a long while before he could have a peaceable drink in the saloon. “Ah, if you don’t mind… I’d like to keep our business between ourselves.”
“Of course.” With a serious look, Miss Cannon handed him the needles. “I should sit next to you, so I can help guide your hands.”
Red suppressed a grin. “Sounds like a good idea,” he said, keeping his tone even.
Her hand hovered over the basket.
He had a twinge of disappointment when she passed right over a ball of red yarn to settle on a blue one.
Miss Cannon picked it up and raised her eyebrows to see if he agreed with her choice.
Since admitting to wanting red yarn wasn’t manly, he gave her a nod.
She tossed the ball to him, surprising him with the playful gesture. “Unroll a few feet.”
Red caught the ball with one hand and grasped it between his thumb and forefinger, as though holding up a curious object. Her giggle sent warmth into his stomach. He found the end of the yarn and began to unwind it. When he’d finished, he looked to her for approval.
The anxious look returned to her eyes. Red hoped that his prowess as a knitter would soon make his pretty teacher smile.
After all, how hard can knitting be?
~ ~ ~
Louisa tried to quell her nervousness. She’d never dreamed a man would show up to take knitting lessons, much less a handsome one with coal black hair and matching short beard, and the most vivid blue eyes she’d ever seen. He was sturdily built, too, and wore worn blue pants and a blue-and-black plaid flannel shirt. When he moved, his spurs made sounds like tiny bells when he moved.
A student is a student, and his money will be just as good as a woman’s. Or so she told herself as she set up the preparations for his lesson.
Once Red Macalister unwound the yarn and looked up at her with an expression of expectation, she sat in a chair next to him, scooting it close until their legs almost touched.
His nearness brought about a sudden realization of the impropriety of their situation. I’m his teacher, she tried to reassure herself, bringing up her needles and the blue yarn and demonstrating how to cast on stitches. Ideally, she should stand behind and above him, placing her arms around his shoulders and her hands on top of his to move them. Just the thought made heat rise in her cheeks.
Banishing the image, Louisa explained each step and showed him what to do. Then she pulled the stitches off the needles and repeated the whole thing. “Your turn.”
He turned a searching gaze her way.
Louisa’s heart began a quick patter, patter, and she found breathing hard.
Mr. Macalister tried to mimic her movements, but the yarn fell off the needle, to curl across his leg. He made a face, picked it up, and tried again, only to have the same thing happen. He growled.
Oh, dear. Louisa had a sudden fear that she’d lose her first student before they’d even begun. “Let me help.” She leaned over and placed her hands on his. The contact with his skin sent a sizzle through her fingers and up her arms.
Startled, she jerked away. Don’t be silly, she scolded herself, placing her hands back over his.
He shifted.
Louisa lost her balance and fell against his shoulder. “Oh, excuse me.” She pulled herself upright, feeling a blush creep into her cheeks.
He smiled, and the skin around his eyes crinkled. “Nothing to excuse. I’m the one who’s fumble-fingered. Let’s try again, shall we? I think if you guide me, I’ll figure this out.”
Louisa took a breath and moved his fingers. “Knit two, purl two.” She continued to direct him. They bumbled through the sorriest row of stitches she’d ever seen. When they reached the end, she had him stop and took her hands away.
Mr. Macalister lifted the needle with his handwork up to eye height and peered at it. “That’s going to let in a lot of cold air. I might as well stick with the holey pair of stockings I have now.”
“We’ve just gotten started,” Louisa chided, worried he might quit. “As you knit more rows, the stiches fill in naturally.”
He gave her a skeptical look.
“I’m sure when you began learning—” She cast her mind for a cowboy example “—Roping, you missed the first time.”
Red shot her a look of mock offence. “I’ll have you know my very first throw landed exactly where I wanted.”
“Oh,” Louisa said, amused. “Naturally, Mr. Macalister.”
“Around the cat.”
“The cat!”
“Yep. Took off with a yowl. Almost dragged me off the porch. My ma tanned my hide that day.”
Imagining the scene, Louisa laughed. “How old were you?”
“Six. A neighbor gave me the rope for my birthday.”
“Sounds like you knew you wanted to be a cowboy from a very young age.”
His expression grew serious. “That I did. I have a small ranch now with two partners. Good men, both of them. Known them a long time. We have big plans.” He glanced out the window. “I should be on my way. Don’t want to be riding in the dark.”
“Of course.” Louisa took the yarn and needles from him and set them on the table.
He gave her a questioning look. “I think I can make it back tomorrow for a bit. That be all right with you?”
Louisa tried not to show she felt as giddy as a girl at the thought of seeing him again. “Certainly,” she said in a calm voice.
“Well then.” Red lingered a moment before putting on his coat. “Thank you for the lesson.” He pulled out some coins, pressed them in her hand, and closed her fingers over them. “Til tomorrow.”
~ ~ ~
Two weeks later, a brisk knock at the door had Louisa jumping up and smoothing her hair. Her heart pounded, and she hurried to the window, glanced outside, and saw Red on the doorstep, his arms full of wood.
Butterflies danced inside her. Trying not to seem too eager, she paused to the count of three and then opened the door. “Hello, Red.”
He grinned, and her heart turned over.
She stepped back so he could come inside, then shut the door behind him. Today a cheery fire burned in the fireplace, courtesy of the wood Red had brought on each of his visits.
He stacked the wood in the box by the fireplace.
&nbs
p; She smiled and thanked him.
Red followed her into the kitchen, and took off his coat, hat, scarf, and mittens.
She had a pot of coffee boiling on the stove. The coffee was another gift from him. He’d insisted that he needed a cup for fortitude during their lessons and couldn’t put her to the trouble of providing the beverage. He was a courteous as well as a generous man. The fragrance of the brew wafted over to them.
He picked up the nearly completed, misshapen stocking lying on the table and studied the stitches.
She joined him, standing close enough to almost touch. “You’ll finish it today.”
Red grimaced. “Not sure it’s wearable.”
“We can take it out and start over.”
“We’ve done that ten times.”
“Nine.”
Pounding on the kitchen window startled them apart.
“My heavens!” Louisa gasped and placed her hand above her heart to still the rapid beating.
Donny Addison, wide shoulders hunching under a raccoon skin coat, peered at them through the window, an angry look on his face. He disappeared. A minute later, he thrust himself through the front door without knocking, then slammed it behind him. In his hand he carried a crumpled flyer. “Louisa!” he bellowed. “What in tarnation are you doing?”
Louisa flew into the main room and placed her hands on her hips. “Mr. Addison, how dare you barge in here! Banging on the window, scaring me like that.”
“I saw a man in here, Louisa.”
“Go away, Donny Addison. You have no business spying on me. I won’t have it.”
“It is my business, Louisa. We’re getting married in January.”
Louisa hesitated, knowing she stood at a crossroads. Am I getting married in January?
From behind, she heard the jangle of spurs and slow click of boot heels across the wooden floor. With trepidation, she turned to look at Red Macalister, sauntering into the room as if he owned it.
Donny puffed up, appearing even bigger. He towered over Mr. Macalister by three or four inches. “Macalister, what the hell are you doing here?”
“Watch your language in front of a lady,” Red drawled, but a fierce light darkened his eyes.
“I’ll say whatever the hell I want.”
“Donny Addison!” Louisa pretended to be more offended than she felt. “What would your ma say if she heard you speak that way?”
Donny shuffled his feet, looking like an overgrown schoolboy. “I’m sorry, Louisa.”
She raised an eyebrow, trying for the imperious look she’d once seen wealthy Mrs. Sanders use on Mrs. Cobb. “I haven’t given you permission to use my given name, Mr. Addison,” she said, hoping that neither man could see her shaking knees under her skirt.
“Ah, Louisa,” Donny half pleaded, half blustered.
She glared and crossed her arms.
He rolled his eyes. “Miss Cannon, what is Red Macalister doing in your kitchen?”
Louisa paused. She knew Red didn’t want it broadcast that he was taking knitting lessons. Yet she couldn’t come up with an alternative answer. Next to her, Red took a protective stance that made her feel safe. Not a feeling Donny Addison inspired.
Donny glowered at Red. “You don’t make it into town often, Red. We’ve had us a drink or two before.”
Red nodded. “We have.”
“Most of the men around here know that Miss Cannon and I are gunna get hitched. Didn’t realize I hadn’t passed the word on to you like I did the rest of ’em.”
“You what?” Louisa couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. No wonder no one else wanted to court her. She wanted to scream and pummel the man.
“Now, Louisa…Miss Cannon, I just put out the word that I was gunna marry you. Had to stake my claim.”
Louisa’s chin lifted. “I am not a piece of land. You had no right to say such a thing.”
Donny’s eyes narrowed. “I tole you we’re getting married at the end of January,” he said in a threatening voice. “And that’s that!”
~ ~ ~
Annoyed, Red stood his ground. He couldn’t believe the bad luck of Addison discovering him in Louisa Cannon’s kitchen, taking knitting lessons. He resigned himself to the pack of teasing his partners and any other man who heard about the tale were about to heave his way.
The feeling quickly passed when he found out that his pretty knitting teacher had a prior suitor. A stab of disappointment, akin to pain, slashed through his middle. Donny Addison, of all men.
Before Red had time to explore his reaction, he realized that Miss Louisa Cannon had far more spunk than he’d given her credit for. This lady might not be making Donny Addison a satisfied groom anytime soon. Although watchful on her behalf, Red prepared to sit back and enjoy the show.
Then Donny narrowed his eyes in a way that had Red tensing up. He clenched his fists. This is her call, and I have no right to step in.
Although it sure feels like I do.
Louisa took an affronted breath that had her breasts rising in a way Red could appreciate. “I had not given you an answer, Donny Addison,” she said in a colder tone than the temperature outside. “In fact, I told you that I would NOT—” her voice rose “—give you one until the end of January. Since you are pushing the issue, I will give you my answer now. No, I will not marry you!”
Donny stepped forward. “You just don’t know your own mind.”
She squared her shoulders. “Not now. Not in January. Not ever!”
Donny glowered at Red. “Git out of here, Red, and let me talk to my woman.”
Louisa hissed like an angry cat.
Torn between amusement and anger, Red drawled. “I think the lady made it clear that she doesn’t belong to you. Therefore, it’s you that needs to git goin’.”
An ugly look came into Donny’s eyes that sobered Red as though dashing him with ice water. “We’ll both go,” the man said. The words sounded threatening, and Red had no doubt that once he left town, Louisa wouldn’t be safe. She might find herself a bride by force.
I won’t allow it.
For Donny’s benefit, Red turned to give Louisa a teasing smile, although his eyes warned her to play along. “We weren’t going to announce our good news until after Christmas. But I think, my darling, now’s a good time to tell Donny we’re getting married.”
The startled look in her eyes quickly vanished, replaced by dawning wonder. She slipped her hand into his, squeezed, and faced Donny. “It’s time for you to go.” Her words were quietly given, but strength radiated from them.
Donny’s hand dropped to hover over his hip.
Red tensed and thrust Louisa behind him, then dropped his hand to his Colt. He didn’t draw it. No sense giving Donny a reason to say he had to defend himself. “You’ll be strung up for even trying,” he warned.
“I’ll say that you were trying to rape my woman.”
Louisa gasped. Her hand on Red’s shoulder, she peered around him. “What a vile thing to say, Donny Addison. Gives me a true measure of your character. I’m not your woman. In fact, you’ll have to kill me too, because I’ll tell everyone what you did.”
Brave woman.
The man’s dark expression made Red brace. Many years of practice made him a quick draw. He could shoot Donny before the man got out his gun. Although the last thing Red wanted to do was wound Donny Addison, he’d do anything to protect Louisa.
A semblance of sanity returned to Donny’s eyes, and his arms drifted to his sides. “Louisa, please?” he pleaded.
Red could almost feel sorry for the man. Almost. He relaxed but didn’t remove his hand from the gun.
“I love another man, Donny.” Louisa stepped to Red’s side. “Now go. Under the circumstances, I won’t see you to the door.”
The man’s shoulders slumped. Without another word, Donny turned and walked away.
Once the door closed behind him, Louisa dropped the bar across it. She briefly leaned against the frame and closed her eyes. She took a deep b
reath, squared her shoulders, then straightened and walked over to Red. “I’m sorry.”
“Donny Addison is not your fault.” Red took her hand, led her to the settee, and had her sit down. “At the risk of sounding like Donny, I think we should head over to Reverend Norton’s and have him marry us. It’s not safe here for you anymore,” he said the words in a matter of fact tone that belied the banging of his heart.
Louisa looked at him with wide, fearful eyes. She shook her head.
Disappointed at her reaction, he frowned. “I know it’s not what you wanted. I’m not what you wanted. But I promise I’ll make you a good husband. Even if something should happen to me…if Donny came after me, there’s my share of the ranch. My partners would protect you. And there’s Mrs. Dean, our housekeeper. She’ll take good care of you too.”
“Mr. Macalister, I’m not what you wanted.”
Hope washed into him. Maybe… “I wasn’t with you but ten minutes, Louisa Cannon, when I most definitely wanted you.”
She laughed. “That’s because you wanted me to knit your stockings so you wouldn’t have to.”
Relieved to see color coming back into her cheeks, he reached up and ran his thumb just below her cheekbone. “You’d do that for me? Knit my stockings?”
Her blush deepened, but she didn’t look away. “It’s a wife’s job. But I don’t want you to feel forced to marry me.”
“I am forced, darlin’,” he drawled. “And I’m thankin’ the good Lord for it. If it had been up to me, I might be walkin’ ’round in worn-out stockings with a frozen big toe for the next year.”
“Red Macalister, be serious!” Louisa said in an exasperated voice.
“May I?” Leaning over, Red dropped a gentle kiss on her lips. He wanted to linger but didn’t dare scare her off. “How’s that for serious?”
Her lips remained slightly pursed, as if reluctant to leave his. She studied his face, obviously searching for his sincerity.
Red let his love show in his eyes.
She straightened, lowering her eyelids and giving him a flirtatious glance from under her eyelashes. “I think I’m prepared, Red Macalister, to make a lifelong commitment to knitting your stockings.”
Montana Sky Christmas: A Sweetwater Springs Short Story Collection Page 2
